“The chief put my goat in jail and I need some money to get it out,” said my neighbor, Musa. Until this point a couple months ago, my front and back yards constantly smelled like shit. Goat shit to be exact. Needless to say, I couldn't have been happier with this new form of animal justice sweeping through Bauya, or more surprised that I turned conservative after moving to Africa (hyperbole, exageration, lie, etc.). Orwellian! you say? Anthropocentrism! you accuse? Maybe so, but every time you leave a chair unattended does it turn into the local bathroom? Didn't think so. *Update* I'm currently helping them draft similar legislation that will lock up the chickens, pigs, ducks, and turkeys.
I was on my way to Moyamba last weekend to collect the first transfer of donation money. After three and a half hours of waiting for a vehicle at the junction, an NGO truck finally pulled up. Remember those commercials where a driver would pull over to a DUI checkpoint, and when the driver got out, a pool of booze spilled out of his/her car and the cop said, “Busted!”. Picture the same thing but with an NGO vehicle and a deluge of palm wine. For a brief moment, all I could think was, “So this is safer than that motorcycle over there?” But considering it was the only vehicle that had passed through my village all day, I was in no position to turn down a free ride in the party-mobile. And obviously, the ride to Moyamba was awesome. The palm wine was flowing, the music was loud, and new friends were made.
At the bank I withdrew enough money to pay five teachers for the next two months as well as put down a deposit for a variety of tools we will be using to start the School Farm Project. To spread the business around as much as possible, we are splitting the work between the local blacksmith and an organization in Moyamba called the Able and Disabled Center. The founder, an inspiring man named Santigi (I know, great name right?), started a metalwork shop whose mission is to provide training, limited housing, and work for the physically disabled in Moyamba. Wonderful guy, wonderful organization, and a pleasure to do business with. We are now in the planning phase for the school farm. Our agriculture teachers along with project coordinator are figuring out what we want to plant, where to get seeds (we're hoping for a community contribution), and the planting schedule. Watching the teachers work with such renewed vigor makes me indescribably appreciative to be the conduit between your hard-earned money and these happy, hard-working people I am lucky enough to call my friends.
If you haven't donated to our cause yet, please, right now is the perfect opportunity to make a significant impact in the lives of some amazing human beings. We can pay a teacher for a year with $420, or for a month with $35. We can buy the zinc needed for the roof of a library for $250. I promise you that we are working our butts off over here to ensure that any and every dollar contributed is being put to excellent use. https://www.wepay.com/donate/15581
Another way you can contribute without giving a dime is by helping me with the following problem: through the incredible generosity of my friends and family, we have raised enough money to pay for two years worth of salaries for five unpaid teachers. That is an amazing feat and one that should be applauded, but the problem is that it's not sustainable; it will take continuous outside contributions until the government is able to pay all of its teachers. I'm looking for a way to make this project sustainable, perhaps through agriculture, perhaps another way. Irregardless, the solution is above my pay grade. I'm hoping that someone out there has an idea, or a contact in sustainable development who might have an idea. Right now, this would be even better than money.
On a sad note, my host mom, the woman who opened her home to me for three months during my training last year, died last month. I have been to far more funerals here than I had in my whole life back home, but for obvious reasons, this was much more personal. Mama Makiu was a badass in every sense of the word. Her husband died about 10 years ago and her only daughter lives in the capital teaching in a secondary school; but that didn't stop her from housing eight children who are distant relatives as well as her best friend, a blind woman named Aunty Chris. The only thing bigger and louder than Mama's bark was her capacity for love, and I will remain eternally grateful for her hospitality, immense knowledge, and unconditional kindness. I miss her every day. All that sadness aside, what this culture does really well is grieve and then move forward, but without ever forgetting. The forty day ceremony is a Muslim tradition adopted here by Christians as well, and it is a great experience. Tons of food, great music, and everyone sitting around sharing stories and remembering the life of a uniquely loved woman. The process of death and bereavement in any culture is worth studying because you can learn so much about a culture from the way they handle it. Not surprisingly, Sierra Leoneans handle it very well.
We finally started school this week, and only three weeks after the originally scheduled start date!! All kidding aside, it's going really well. Shockingly well. I would love to hug the person who made Peace Corps a two year program. You spend the first year as close to drowning as you ever want to be in your life, but your second year water skiing. It's amazing. The school appears to be operating much better, which could be a result of teachers receiving a fair wage for their work, but also could be my outlook. The students are behaving like civilized human beings, which could be the result of us drafting and distributing a Pupil Code of Conduct, but again, it could be that my outlook has simply changed. My best guess is that it's a combination of all those things as well as the beautiful realization that, while I don't think you can every be fully integrated without spending many many years somewhere, simply put, I'm comfortable here. This is home.
Peace and Love,
Brandon
